Aftermath
by too-much-like-Luna
Summary: After Jack leaves, two women try to learn to live in the world he left behind. Alice Carter/Johnson.


**Title: **Aftermath

**Fandom: **Torchwood

**Pairings:** Alice Carter/Johnson

**Spoilers/Warnings:** Spoilers for all of Children of Earth, canon compliant death of a minor character.

I haven't really attempted to be or not be canon compliant for the spoilers about Miracle Day, because I don't think I'm ready to move on :)

**Summary: **After Jack leaves, two women try to learn to live in the world he left behind.

**Notes: **I don't even know.

Apologies to the real Mrs. Greenwalsh, or at least the one I met two weeks ago. I just like your name, and decided to borrow it for my own nefarious purposes.

I decided that if Adam Lambert could title a song "Aftermath" then I could ignore my rather strong, OCD fuelled need to put a "the" before "aftermath" which isn't necessarily even proper grammar, when you think about it (is this how I'm placating the voices in my head?...maybe)

After it is all over, Alice doesn't see Johnson for months. And then, one day in December, she catches sight of her in an aisle at Tescos. And the whole world seems to stop.

Johnson glances up, and, of all things, _blanches. _It is ridiculous and out of character and it is that, and only that, which makes Alice nod slightly in recognition.

She wants to leave, wants to walk out of the store and curse and cry alone in her car, but she cannot. Johnson is in front of the tea.

Slowly, Alice walks forward, and the other woman looks down at the ground.

"Hi," Alice chokes out, the word startlingly loud under the dim lights and surrounded by a crush of people.

Johnson nods again. "Hello," she says, and they stand there.

"Right," Alice coughs, after a minute. "Well, I'm just...tea." She gestures vaguely at the shelf.

"Of course," Johnson says, and moves aside. "They're out of Earl Grey," she adds, and Alice looks at her for several seconds before swallowing and nodding once again. "Thank you," she says, and is surprised when the words don't feel like dust against her tongue.

Johnson glances up at Alice once more, and then draws herself up and pivots, walking away.

"Johnson!" Alice calls out, almost involuntarily.

The woman turns back. "Edna," she says loudly, and Alice blinks several times before she understands the word.

"Edna," she says, her lips curling in a bitter smile, and that word does taste like dust.

"Yes?" the woman asks.

Alice shakes her head. "I don't know. Nothing. Never mind."

Johnson nods (the movement too familiar) and turns and walks away once more.

Alice thinks it should feel like a form of healing. It just feels awkward and knife-sharp against her heart.

The last time she saw Johnson, Alice reminds herself that night, the woman was beside Jack Harkness as she held Steven's body to her chest. Alice should not have wanted to grasp the woman's hand and beg for her to say "Yes, I was there. Yes, I saw it." over and over again until Alice was convinced she was not the only one to have been scarred by that room.

Gwen Cooper visits the next day. Alice does not open the door.

Alice makes tea constantly. She boils the water, and steeps the tea leaves, and forgets to drink it. And then she boils the water and steeps the tea leaves.

(Steven had loved tea with a little milk and several spoonfuls of sugar. Alice herself has always hated it.)

Alice makes tea, and stares at the television and doesn't answer the door. Once a week, she ventures out for groceries (and even that seems like too much effort, most days).

Sometimes, when the sky outside has long since gone dark, she thinks about Jack Harkness. She hopes that his days are as painfully empty as hers are, but she doesn't have enough faith in him to think that it's possible.

Mrs. Greenwalsh from next door accosts Alice the next time she ventures outside.

"You poor dear," she says, holding a cake.

Alice blinks at her.

"No one should have to lose a child," the woman continues, apparently unperturbed by Alice's silence. "Such a terrible thing to happen. Steven was always such a bright child."

Alice opens her mouth, and closes it again when Mrs. Greenwalsh passes her the cake. Coconut, by the looks of it. Steven hadn't been able to stand the stuff.

"Though..." the other woman trails off, purses her lips, and then starts again. "We do all wonder...how it happened..."

Alice thinks, _My father killed his grandchild to save the human race, _but years of habit stop her, even now. She only manages "Saving the world" before she has to turn and walk back into the house (Mrs. Greenwalsh a confused but silent spectator behind her).

Steven had been mentioned in the papers of course, but always accompanied by "Torchwood" and "Jack Harkness" and "the dead" and not by "was killed by Jack Harkness when he was used to transmit a message to aliens." Alice is too tired to consider it anything more than another injustice in an attempt by the government to placate the public.

Three weeks after she met Johnson in Tesco's, the knocks on the door by well-meaning neighbours have abated to an occasional annoyance. Manageable. Alice still sleeps in Steven's room more often than not, and she still can't watch the news or clean the mess of orange juice that Steven had made before they'd fled, but it has gotten to the point where all this is almost normal.

And then Alice looks out the window and sees a black car parked on the other side of the road.

She doesn't bother with a jacket or shoes, just opens the door and crosses the road without looking, approaching the car with tears and anger simmering behind her eyes.

"I'm not-" she begins when she sees that the driver side window is open, and then she stops.

"Ms. Carter," Johnson says, nodding respectfully.

Alice draws herself up. "There is not a chance in hell of me going with you," she says firmly.

"I'm not supposed to take you anywhere," Johnson says, even that sentence formal (perhaps, Alice thinks, "formal" is all that is left once you've worked with the government for long enough).

"Oh?" Alice raises her eyebrow. "Keeping tabs on me, then?"

"No." Johnson glances at her steering wheel. "This is not an official meeting."

Alice scoffs, and Johnson glances back up. "I was...fired."

Alice smiles bitterly. "Killing a child not enough to keep you in a job?"

Johnson glances down once again, and Alice feels a surge of bitter triumph.

"I disobeyed orders," Johnson says slowly. "And afterwards...I became... uncooperative."

Alice feels herself deflate slightly, tired and worn and old. "Why are you here, then?" she asks, and Johnson stares at her for a long minute before admitting "I felt that I should...check on you."

"Well, checking done." Alice says, spreading out her arms to prove her point. "Still alive, still grieving, still absolutely incapable of talking to you." She lowers her arms and stands there for a moment, before turning and walking back into the house.

She ignore the fact that the car doesn't leave until several hours later.

Alice pretends not to notice Johnson trailing her the next day until she has completed the shopping and is loading the bags into her car. That done, she walks sedately over to where Johnson has parked, and knocks on her window.

"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?" she asks wearily when the window is rolled down.

Johnson looks at her silently.

"Because spying on me is creepy and rude," Alice continues. "And I don't want to have to put up with it. Not after everything else."

"I'm just making sure you stay safe," Johnson says.

Alice scoffs. "That has never been your intention," she says. She leans down so she's level with Johnson. "_What are you doing?" _she asks again, loudly.

"I..." Johnson hesitates, looks down, and then looks up again. "I don't know." she admits.

Alice stands upright. "Well, go do something else." She turns and begins to walk away, but Johnson's voice stops her.

"I have nightmares," the woman admits.

Alice turns back toward her. "Good," she says.

"I can't seem to stop them."

Alice shrugs. "Not my problem." she says, and walks away.

Joe phones her the next day, and they try to talk about Steven but Alice spends most of the conversation steadily grinding a coffee bean into dust with a fork against the counter.

"We could..." Joe starts. "Do you want to go out for coffee, or something?"

Alice hesitates, and imagines the outcomes of saying "Yes." They could meet at a cafe and have coffee and they would awkwardly carry on a conversation, brought together by death. And maybe everything would be fine, maybe they'd get on well, like they used to, and they could continue to meet up and Alice's heart would slowly heal and they could be friends. Before, she would have jumped at the chance to mend things with Joe.

But she can't do it. She can't have Steven's death be the catalyst for something good.

"No," she says. "I don't think that would be a very good idea, right now."

They hang up soon after that, and there is nothing to distract Alice from the oppressive silence of the house.

Johnson's car is outside Alice's house at least three hours a day for the next six days. On the seventh, Alice stares at it for several minutes before grabbing her coat and walking out of the door.

She doesn't say anything when she reaches the car, just stands outside the window, which Johnson rolls down obediently.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, and then Johnson breaks the tension with "How are you?"

Alice frowns and looks at the ground. "Terrible," she says.

Johnson nods, hesitates, and then says "I'm sorry."

Alice looks back up and tries to think of something sarcastic. "Do you want to come in for a coffee?" she asks instead.

It isn't forgiveness, not even close. Alice thinks that maybe it's loneliness, or maybe insanity is just an inevitable product of the stillness that has filled her house.

They each have a cup of coffee, and Alice sneers at Johnson's black coffee and spoons sugar into her own, and Johnson opens her mouth when she sees the congealed orange juice and then closes it again, and they sit at the kitchen counter and do not say anything until they have both drained their cups.

"I have a niece," Johnson says, out of the blue.

"Oh," Alice replies.

"She was one of the children to be rounded up."

Alice traces a finger against the grain of the counter. "That doesn't excuse what you did."

"No," Johnson says, and Alice can feel Johnson's eyes on her head. "But it's a reason."

Alice doesn't reply.

"I realized that your father was the children's best chance. I had to try."

"Everyone's best chance but his family," Alice muses, "that's Jack Harkness for you."

They are both silent for several minutes, Johnson staring at Alice, and Alice studying the counter-top.

Johnson is, once again, the one to break the silence.

"Do you have..." she clears her throat. "Anything stronger?"

"Yes," Alice answers immediately, and gets up to fetch the wine.

"The thing is," Johnson begins, after more than one bottle of wine has been drained. "I never really _loved _my job. I was just _good_ at it. And I...I realized, after, you know, _after, _in that room, that I didn't know the woman who let _that _happen."

Alice tilts her head back. "That woman is a bitch," she says. "A really... bloody huge...bitch."

Johnson hums in agreement. "But I don't know how to be...anyone but," she waves her had in Alice's direction, "that bitch. I don't even have a _job _now because my job made me a bitch, and this bitch doesn't know how to be...like...a...waitress, or something. I don't know how to be a cashier! Or...a lawyer or doctor or _anything."_

"Could always join a travelling show," Alice volunteers. 'There must still be one around...somewhere."

Johnson seems to consider this, and Alice continues "I used to want to join a travelling show. My father," she corrects herself, "_Jack Harkness_ used to tell me these...impossible stories. He was in a travelling show."

Johnson purses her lips. "Not difficult to picture, that," she says. "Surprisingly easy."

"That's all he was, really," Alice muses. "Just a man who...told me stories. Impossible stories from an impossible man." Alice tilts her head back up, and the momentary dizziness distracts her for a moment.

"He used to... He used to take me to the top of high buildings, and tell me stories about stars and planets and...people he loved. I fucking _hate _heights." Alice laughs bitterly.

Johnson is silent for a moment, and then she shifts and says "My brother offered to get me a job as a waitress at his wife's restaurant, have I told you that?"

"You told me."

"So I can go there, and I can be..._friendly _and clean up messes and take orders and every time I see a boy, I can think "I killed a child" and someday that will...become _normal."_

Johnson shifts to lay down on the sofa she'd collapsed onto after the first bottle and looks at Alice. "The bitch didn't care," she says. "The bitch wasn't lost."

Alice shifts to face her. "But the bitch didn't...didn't hesitate when she talked and didn't bite her lower lip and didn't...didn't trail the mothers of people who'd died because she didn't know what else to do...Edna."

Johnson closes her eyes.

"I'm sure you could take your gun with you, if you waitress," Alice says. "You could hide it. If it makes you feel better."

Edna laughs wetly and opens one eye. "More wine?" she asks, and Alice groans and reaches for the bottle.

Edna falls asleep on the sofa half an hour later, and Alice stares at her for several minutes before dragging herself up and to Steven's room, where she falls asleep almost as soon as her head meets the pillow.

The next time Alice goes shopping, Edna meets her at the door.

"Not a waitress, then?" Alice asks, glancing pointedly at the black car that had followed her to the store.

"Not yet," Edna replies grimly, and follows her into the store.

"You could be a bodyguard," Alice says.

"I wouldn't...wouldn't trust myself with that," Edna says (and Alice remembers wishing she could know that she wasn't the only one who had scars not visible to the eyes). "Besides; I wasn't exactly discharged...respectfully. I caused rather a lot of problems."

"What about..." Alice hesitates, before forcing herself on, "Torchwood?"

Edna glances at her, and then away again quickly. "No," she says. "They're in shambles. They don't really seem to have a prescribed role, anymore. They've been working with the government and giving press releases...nobody seems to know how much blame they should get. And well, there's only Gwen Cooper left at Torchwood Three, you know."

"Harkness buggered off, then?" Alice asks. "Figures."

"You don't...you don't refer to his as your father."

"No," Alice says shortly ("Dad," she had cried, "Please, dad."). "I don't."

Edna nods and turns towards the dried goods.

"I suppose "politician" is out?" Alice asks, and Edna turns toward her with wide eyes. "That's not funny," she says, but her lips twitch and Alice feels an answering smile curl her lips, just for a moment.

"What about a police officer?"

"You're covering all the types of job I'm trying to get away from very well, please, feel free to stop."

"What about a PA?"

"Your obvious sarcasm is very flattering."

"Looks like being a waitress is your only option then, really."

Edna opens her mouth to reply, but then they both catch sight of a young boy with blond hair and she closes it again, face stiffening as she turns away.

It is only when they have started loading the bags into Alice's car that Edna speaks again. "Perhaps we should go find a travelling show," she says weakly. "We'd fit right in, no questions asked."

Alice hums. "That would be sufficiently close to a mental breakdown."

Edna considers for a moment, peering at Alice sideways, before saying slowly "I think the fact that we are...that we are talking...shows that you have already had one."

Alice cocks her head to the side. "The travelling show would be an excellent, slightly ironic finish, then." she says after a moment. "Start looking for one, will you?"

"Oh Alice," Mrs. Greenwalsh from next door calls as Alice and Edna struggle up the front walk with their groceries. "Alice, dear!"

Alice sighs and sets her multitude of bags down before turning to face her neighbour. "Yes, Mrs. Greenwalsh?" she asks.

"I was just talking about you with Greta from your other side!" the woman exclaims, and Alice studiously avoids meeting Edna's eyes.

"Were you," Alice says neutrally, and Edna snorts behind her.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Greenwalsh says enthusiastically. "And we were just saying what a _pity _it is that you're all _alone _in that big house now that Steven's...well. So," she leans forward confidentially, "Greta has a great-nephew that we think would be just _perfect _for you, and we are all set to plan a nice romantic date for you two!"

Alice opens her mouth and then closes it again, and Edna coughs behind her. Mrs. Greenwalsh's eyes flick toward her, and Alice says "Mrs, Greenwalsh is my neighbour" to Edna for a lack of anything else to say. "Mrs. Greenwalsh, this is Edna."

Edna looks taken aback at the large, bright smile she receives. "Oh!" Mrs. Greenwalsh cries. "Are you Alice's sister? Such a tragedy, what happened to your family."

Edna shoots a helpless look at Alice, who only smiles back. "No...I mean, I'm not her sister."

"Oh!" Mrs. Greenwalsh is silent for a moment, contemplating them, and then turns back to Edna beseechingly. "But surely you think, as her friend, that she should have someone special in her life?"

Edna looks at Alice, who rolls her eyes, and then back at Mrs. Greenwalsh, who seems to take her silence as encouragement. "I'm mean, I'm sure _you _have a nice young man waiting for you at home. Don't you think it would help Alice to have her own?"

Edna looks once more at Alice, hesitantly, before looking at Mrs. Greenwalsh and saying. "I'm a lesbian, so I don't think I'm really...qualified to answer that." She walks past Alice to the front door.

Alice smiles at Mrs. Greenwalsh, whose mouth is open either in shock or outrage, says "Thanks for thinking of me," picks up her bags, and walks to the door.

"My key is in my bag," she mutters to Edna. "And you had far too much fun shocking her."

Edna rummages around in Alice's purse and doesn't reply. Alice watches Mrs. Greenwalsh "hmph" and cross her lawn to talk to Greta Lamb. "The whole street's going to think you're my lesbian lover by nightfall."

"Sorry," Edna mutters, fitting the key into the lock and opening the door.

"Not a problem," Alice drawls, and walks past the other woman and into the kitchen.

Edna's black car is conspicuous only by its absence the next time Gwen Cooper calls. Alice open the door at her knock, sighing wearily.

"Hi! Erm...I'm Gwen Cooper Williams... I work for Torchwood...?"

"Yes," Alice says. "I know."

"Are you..." Gwen trails off and stares at Alice before starting again. "Are you Jack Harkness' daughter?"

Alice stiffens. "Yes," she says grudgingly. "But I don't know where he is. Nor do I wish to."

Gwen appears taken aback. "Sorry," she says. "I just thought you might."

"I don't."

Gwen nods and seems to be ready to take her leave, but then says. "You don't have any ideas...?"

Alice sighs and leans against the doorjamb. "He'll be in the stars," she says, and Gwen frowns. "Being Jack Harkness means you never have to face your mistakes."

Gwen opens her mouth to speak, but Alice holds up her hand to stop her. "If he comes back, he won't return here. Your Hub is your best bet."

She turns and closes the door. The finality of its slam echoes through the hallway.

"Gwen Cooper came by, today," Alice tells Edna later. "She thought I would know where Harkness is." She jabs viciously at the fish with her fork, and Edna looks at her but remains silent, used to Alice's abrupt conversation starters.

"He didn't tell anyone where he was going," she continues. "Didn't leave a note, or an email or _anything. _Just left us all here to clean up." She drops her fork and buries her face in her hands. "That's it," she says. "Just silence, that's _it. _That's what he leaves us with."

Edna places a hand softly on her shoulder and rubs in circles until Alice bites back her sobs and retrieves her fork.

They are drunk again, both sitting on Alice's sofa, passing a bottle of wine back and forth (glasses were too much hassle).

"I killed Harkness...several times," Edna says, and Alice hums and takes the bottle from her.

"I didn't even really know why. I mean they were...Torchwood, yeah? And no one really knows what Torchwood is...so I killed him, and kept killing him and thought I was protecting my country...in some twisted way...and then, I find out...he's the country's only chance."

"It's not like dying really _hurt _him much," Alice points out.

"No...but...I still did it."

"You did," Alice agrees, and crosses her legs.

"And now I'm lost and getting drunk with his daughter."

Alice leans her head back. "That's nothing. Today, I contemplated having sex with a woman who had a hand in my son's death."

Edna is silent for several long seconds, glancing surreptitiously at Alice and then away. Eventually she sighs and takes the bottle back. 'Travelling show," she says, and takes a gulp.

"I accepted the waitress job," Edna calls out unhappily.

Alice sticks her head out of the kitchen. "Hello to you too," she says.

Edna walks into the kitchen, smoothly avoiding the slightly green orange juice to be able to unload a plastic grocery bag onto a counter. "So I bought a lot of wine and some pasta."

Alice moves to stand next to her. "Most people would at least knock, before coming in," she points out, studying one of the bottles of wine.

Edna raises an eyebrow. "We're not most people. What kind of sauce should we have?"

"Tomato? Consider being a waitress a placeholder, something to do so you can pay your bills until something better comes along."

Edna scoffs. "Like working in retail? Do you actually _have _tomatoes?"

"Retail's not so bad, but we'll find you something else. Canned, in the pantry."

Edna gives her an small smile with the left corner of her mouth, and goes to find tomatoes.

"We do this much too often," Edna says, looking at the bottle of wine considerately.

"No one's going to judge," Alice assures her.

"_I'm _judging."

"You always judge. Learn to shut that off."

"What, common sense?"

"Mm... gets in the way of...this."

Edna looks at her. "You're extremely pissed." she states.

"Yes. But why shouldn't I be?"

"Common sense. Facing reality."

"I would prefer not to."

Edna takes a gulp of wine.

"I mean," Alice pontificates, "if I decided to...face reality...we—we wouldn't be doing this. Never in a million years, would we be doing this."

"So I should continue to bring wine."

"Oh yes, definitely."

The kiss seems inevitable. They are sitting on the sofa, and Alice is drunk and Edna is so _close, _and it seems natural to lean in slightly, press her lips against Edna's, seeking reassurance and warmth and offering atonement. It's soft and fleeting, the barest of pressures. Alice pulls back, and Edna stares at her silently for several seconds before standing and walking out the door without a backward glance.

That, too, seems inevitable.

The day after Alice first kisses Edna (only a small peck, really. It hardly constitutes a kiss), the black car remains parked across from her house for most of the day.

Edna does not come in, and Alice spends the day alternately staring out the window and staring at the spill of orange juice, now just a slightly slimy green stain on the counter and floor.

By midnight, Alice has moved to sit at the counter with a cup of coffee. She hears a car beep, and looks outside to see Edna squaring her shoulders before crossing the road. Alice looks at the stain and runs a hand through her hair.

Edna has reached the walk, and Alice gets up and fetches a cloth, wetting it before taking a steadying breath and starting to scrub at the green stain. She doesn't look up when she hears Edna enter the house and then the kitchen, and she starts when a hand is placed on her shoulder. Edna kneels down beside her on the floor, remaining silent but not removing her hand.

Alice settles back on her knees, scrutinizing the faint outline of green that remains on the floor. "My father used to tell me stories," she says softly, as Edna reaches out hesitantly to brush away tears Alice hadn't been aware she had shed, "about stars and planets. He would take me to tall buildings and I would always be terrified, but I would listen anyway, because I loved him so much."

She turns to face Edna. "I kept meaning to ask him to never see us again. But I couldn't. Even though I knew he was dangerous."

Edna meets her gaze. "You can't help who you love," she says softly.

"Exactly." Alice turns back to the stain. She reaches out with the cloth, intent on removing any trace of green, but Edna stops her with a hand on her arm. Slowly, Edna trails her hand down to Alice's, until their hands twine around the cloth. "Let me help?" she asks softly.

"Odd symbolism," Alice states, but moves her hand obligingly when Edna starts to scrub.

"I don't know who I am," Edna says softly, as they scrub together at the floor. "I don't know where I'm going, or what I want to happen with my life."

"I know," Alice replies, as Edna pulls their hands away and they contemplate the clean floor. "I'm rather lost, as well." She pulls herself to her feet, and Edna stands beside her. She reaches out toward the stain on the counter, but Edna once again stops her.

"I don't think it should be gone...all at once," she says, avoiding Alice's gaze. "That bit can wait. I think this is enough to be getting on with, for a bit."

Alice studies her for a moment, and then nods, lowering the hand that is still twined with Edna's to her side. She puts the cloth in the sink and then turns to cup Edna's cheek with her free palm. Edna smiles slightly and leans into the touch.

It's not love, at least not yet, Alice knows. But it's companionship, and mutual insanity and someone to talk to (a raft in the middle of a turbulent sea).

_End_


End file.
